


There's A Way

by ShowMeAHero



Series: Still Here Tomorrow [4]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Babies, Cancer, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Fluff, Hospitals, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Pregnancy, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-17 06:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16511003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: This is the happiest Matt has ever been.In his entire life.It’s not a high bar, but it is a bar, and he’s pretty thrilled to have reached it.And, of course, that means things have to start going wrong.





	1. back in the atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> Just gonna be self-indulgent for a sec, if you don't mind.
> 
> Title taken from ["Father and Son"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yERildSsWxM) by Cat Stevens.

This is the happiest Matt has ever been.

In his entire life.

It’s not a high bar, but it is a bar, and he’s pretty thrilled to have reached it.

“Let’s name him Karen,” Foggy suggests, a little tipsy. He isn’t drinking much, because Karen can’t drink, but he’s just as happy as Matt is, and his joy is making him giddy. Matt leans into his warmth and lets himself grin.

“He’ll get bullied,” Matt reminds him. Foggy shrugs; Matt can feel it, where their arms are touching.

“And he’s got Jack and Molly to back him up,” Foggy says. “They’re already their own two-man team of defenders. Nobody’ll bully their beloved little brother, Karen.”

“You can’t name him Karen,” Karen says. Foggy shifts; Matt imagines he’s playfully clutching at his own chest, acting wounded.

“It’s your  _ legacy,”  _ Foggy says, and, yes, definitely acting wounded. Matt laughs.

“Molly’s middle name is Paige,” Karen reminds them. “I have a legacy. Plus, with the Bulletin and everything—”

“Details,” Foggy says. He yawns, and leans his head on Matt’s shoulder. “Can’t thank you enough for doing this, Karen.”

“I know, Foggy,” Karen says. “You say it every thirty seconds.”

“Well, I’m very appreciative,” Foggy replies.

“So am I,” Matt adds. “Really, very appreciative.”

“Well, I’m happy to provide you with more children who will care for me when I’m old,” Karen says, “and who will love fun Aunt Karen more than either of their dads.”

“Jack and Molly don’t like you better than they like us,” Foggy says. He turns towards Matt. “Do they?”

“Depends on the day,” Matt tells him. Foggy groans dramatically, and Matt laughs. “Hey, come on, it’s pretty normal.”

“I’m supposed to be the  _ favorite,”  _ Foggy complains.

“What about me?”

“Murdock, what  _ about  _ you?” Foggy asks, and Matt can’t  _ stop  _ laughing. Foggy’s giddiness is wearing off, his tone seems hilarious, and everything is going well in Matt’s life. It’s more than he could have ever thought to want: being married to Foggy, having two — now, almost three — kids, having their firm going well. Everything with Daredevil’s going well, too. Things are actually okay.

“We should probably head out,” Karen suggests. “It’s getting late, I’m sure you’re itching to get home to Jack and Molly.”

Matt definitely is itching to get back to them, but he thought he was doing a better job of acting like he wasn’t. Foggy groans, clapping Matt on the arm and hauling himself up off his barstool.

“Quit making that face, Matt, let’s go,” Foggy tells him. Matt reaches out and finds Foggy’s hand, letting Foggy guide him outside on one arm, Karen on the other. Foggy’s delighted, warm and chatty in the chilly streets of New York. They escort Karen home and make sure she’s safely ensconced in her apartment.

“Anything out of sorts, bomb-sniffer?” Foggy asks, as Matt was trying to subtly examine Karen’s apartment. Something feels a little off; Matt doesn’t like it infringing on their good evening.

“No, nothing,” Matt tells them. He can’t find anything; he’s probably just unused to this level of excitement. “We should probably get home. Karen, see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” Karen says. She leans in and Matt lets her kiss his cheek. He hears her turn to Foggy and hug him tightly. They hug for a little longer than normal, Foggy rubbing her back and letting her bury her face in his neck. Matt hangs back until they release each other.

“Thanks for growing us a boy,” Foggy says. Karen lightly smacks at his shoulder.

“Don’t name him Karen,” Karen says again. Foggy scoffs, but lets Matt lead him out of the apartment and back outside. Foggy’s limping again, which Matt still hasn’t found the source of, but he just lets Foggy lean on him.

“I’m telling you, I think it’s the weather,” Foggy says. “I think I’m getting old and my joints know it. They tell me when storms come. I’m like an old sailor.”

“There’s no storm coming, Foggy,” Matt says. He can always smell when a storm is coming; there’s always extra heat in the air, and moisture, and electricity. It’s not hard to notice. “You should probably get it checked out. Maybe it’s arthritis.”

“So, you admit that I’m old,” Foggy comments. Matt huffs a laugh, but he’s slowly getting distracted. He can hear someone’s footsteps matching theirs, following along the rooftops. It’s not Jessica, or Luke, or Danny, because he’d recognize their footsteps, the way they walk, the way they hold themselves. This is… not them, but not entirely unfamiliar, either. Matt can’t exactly place who it is.

“What’s up?” Foggy asks, because of course he’s noticed that Matt’s distracted. They’ve known each other for a long time, now.

“Someone’s following us,” Matt whispers. Foggy’s heartbeat spikes.

“Should we take a different route?” Foggy asks.  _ We shouldn’t go home,  _ Foggy doesn’t say, but Matt knows it’s true as if they had spoken it. Matt steers Foggy to the right instead of the left, away from their apartment, and starts planning how to best take down whoever’s coming after them. Foggy’s steps falter, and he guides them down an alleyway.

“Trash can on your left,” Foggy says. Matt picks up the lid of it just as someone jumps from the roof and lands in the alleyway with them. “Jesus Christ—”

“Murdock and Murdock,” a voice says. It’s Benjamin Poindexter. He sounds… different, than the last time Matt had spoken to him, years ago.

“Nice costume,” Foggy comments. Matt shuffles slightly, hoping that he’s obscuring Foggy from view. Foggy’s heart is thumping loud, fast, but he’s not afraid, not yet. It’s just adrenaline. He’s ready to fight, too. “I particularly like that little target on your head.”

“It’s a bullseye,” Dex says.

“Oh,  _ you’re  _ Bullseye,” Foggy says. Matt wants him to be  _ quiet,  _ just for one second, but, if he didn’t try to talk his way out of everything, he wouldn’t be Foggy. Instead, Matt uses the time Foggy’s buying them, determines the exact shape of the alley, the placement of everything in it, and how best to take Bullseye down with minimal carnage and noise. “Came back for seconds?”

“Actually, I was hired to kill you,” Bullseye tells them. “I was overjoyed when I got the call, actually. Been meaning to pay you two assholes a visit for a long time.” Bullseye sounds like he’s checking something on a phone. “The name Maxwell Glenn mean anything to you?”

“Ah, geez,” Foggy says. He’s leaning to the side a little; his hip’s still bothering him. He won’t be able to run very fast. Matt will have to knock Bullseye out, which is really no hardship. “Glenn Industries. That figures.”

So, Bullseye actually  _ is  _ after Murdock and Murdock, not Daredevil and Foggy. Matt and Foggy recently exposed Maxwell Glenn and Glenn Industries for illegal housing practices and got the whole operation shut down. It was a big success for them and Hell’s Kitchen, but, apparently, Maxwell Glenn isn’t quite over it.

“Well, can you not and say you did?” Foggy asks. There’s a soft noise; a knife being drawn. Matt can’t move fast enough before Foggy’s swearing, and the scent of blood fills Matt’s senses, and Matt flings the trash can lid at Bullseye in the next beat of his heart.

“Oh, dude, what the fuck?” Foggy spits. Matt hears him yank the knife out of his leg and put his hand over the bleeding wound. He’s too busy shoving Bullseye up against the wall to do anything about it yet, though.

“I thought you were fucking blind,” Bullseye shouts. Matt slams his head back against the wall of the alley. “Foggy Nelson was one of the guys Fisk always used to talk about wanting to kill. He might’ve changed his name, but I still knew who he was. Fisk never said shit about you, though, Murdock. I thought this was gonna be an easy one—”

“Fuck you,” Matt snarls, pinning him up against the wall with his forearm against his throat. He presses harder until he hears and feels Bullseye lose consciousness.

“Matt,” Foggy says, and Matt steps back, letting Bullseye crumple to the ground in a heap. Matt leaves him and goes to Foggy’s side as quickly as he can, helping him to his feet.

“How bad is it?” Matt asks. Foggy shrugs, but his heart is pounding; he’s in pain. Of course he won’t say anything, but Matt can smell the blood. “Stitches?”

“I can do them,” Foggy says. Matt shakes his head. “Well, what else are we gonna do? We can’t call Claire, and we—”

“Hospital,” Matt says. “I’ll take you to the ER.”

“We have to go home,” Foggy tells him. “Why don’t we call the police—”

“No police,” Matt says. Bullseye makes him uneasy; he seemed way too close to putting the pieces together. Matt just wants to leave as soon as possible. “We’ll go to the hospital and get you stitched up. If you want, I’ll go home while you’re there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy says, which means he’s in more pain than Matt thought, because he’s not even trying to argue. Matt supports his weight back to the street and Foggy hails down a cab for the two of them to take to the emergency room.

“Didn’t know we were enough of a threat for Glenn to try to have us  _ killed,”  _ Foggy comments in the backseat of the cab, with seemingly no understanding of the definition of the word  _ discretion.  _ “What was he saying to you, while you had him against the wall?”

“Talking about Fisk,” Matt says. Foggy’s pulse trips. “He remembered your name from when Fisk tried to kill you and Karen. He didn’t think I was going to be a threat.”

“Ah, the blind lawyer,” Foggy says. “Well, hopefully he won’t put two and two together.”

“I made a deal with Fisk,” Matt reminds him, “so he better not betray that. He knows what I’ll do if he does.”

“None of that,” Foggy tells him. The emergency room is packed when they show up there, because of course it is — it’s an emergency room in New York City. Matt helps Foggy to sit down and assists him in tugging his jacket off so he can hold it against the wound on his leg before he goes to the front desk. He plays up the blind thing just a  _ tiny  _ bit so he can hop Foggy to the front of the line, but it works. They give him the paperwork and tell him they’ll be right with them, and Matt just brings the clipboard back to Foggy.

“This is beyond my humble abilities,” Matt said, trying to force levity into his tone. It almost works; Foggy huffs a laugh, but his heart is still pounding. Matt holds Foggy’s jacket against his leg as Foggy fills out the forms. The second he’s done, Matt’s standing, eager to get Foggy fixed up and home so he can go out as Daredevil and see what’s going on with Bullseye and Maxwell Glenn.

“Murdock,” a nurse calls, after Matt gives the clipboard back over, and Matt helps Foggy to his feet again. They bring him a wheeling cot to sit on, and Matt follows the nurses who bring Foggy to a room with three other people.

“We’ll stitch you up,” a nurse, who introduced himself as Harvey, says, as he lifts Foggy’s jacket to examine the wound. “It’s not too deep, but your leg is kind of swollen here. We should probably do an x-ray to make sure you didn’t break anything.”

Matt frowns. He didn’t hear a bone break, or even fracture, but he can’t say anything without them asking how he knows, and probably not believing him anyways, so he remains silent.

“Alright,” Foggy says, and Matt remembers his limp, and his frown deepens. “How long’s that gonna take?”

“Not sure,” Harvey says, scribbling on his clipboard. “Why? Got plans?”

“Nah,” Foggy tells him, “got a babysitter.”

“Ahh, well,” Harvey says. He finishes scribbling. “I’m not worried about your immediate health, so, if you’d like to go home, Mr. Murdock, I can assure you we’ll keep an eye on Franklin.”

“Foggy,” Foggy says.

“Pardon?” Harvey asks.

“He prefers ‘Foggy,’” Matt clarifies. “It’s a nickname.” Matt turns to Foggy. “Do you want me to go?”

“You should probably let Pete go home,” Foggy tells him. “You know how Jack and Molly get if they don’t see you before they go to bed, too. You should go home.”

Matt really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to go home, but Foggy’s insistent, so he just ducks his head and takes Foggy’s hand in his, bringing it to his mouth. He kisses the back of it, then presses his forehead to Foggy’s.

“I’ll be fine,” Foggy tells him, grinning. Matt kisses him. “You’re acting all dramatic. Go home. Tell the kids I’ll see them in the morning.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Murdock,” Foggy replies. Matt squeezes his hand and pulls back.

“Back atcha, Murdock,” Matt says back.

“You already said,” Foggy reminds him. Matt kisses him again, then stands up straight. He’s still nervous, reason unknown, and doesn’t want to leave Foggy alone, but they also do have two children who need him back at home, so he does leave, with Foggy’s bloody jacket in hand. He takes a cab back home for speed’s sake, and he can tell from blocks away that Molly and Jack are still awake.

The second Matt opens the door, he hears Jack and Molly sprinting for him. He holds Foggy’s jacket about his head and lets them slam into his legs.

“Is that Daddy’s coat?” Molly asks.

“Why is it covered in blood?” Jack demands.

“Where’s Daddy?” Molly asks.

“Slow down,” Matt tells them, shutting the front door behind himself and dragging them inside. He hears Peter whistle.

“Dude, you’re covered in blood,” Peter says. “What a horror show. You came home like that? What happened to Foggy?”

“We got mugged,” Matt tells them. He turns his face down towards where he can hear Molly and Jack standing, shifting, fidgeting. “Daddy’s at the hospital, but he’s okay, it’s just a cut. They wanted to do an x-ray to make sure he’s okay. He told me to tell you he’ll see you in the morning and he loves you.”

“Okay!” Molly exclaims. “Can Peter sleep over?”

“Nah, I gotta get home, kid, sorry,” Peter says. Jack hasn’t said anything, and he also hasn’t let go of Matt’s hand. Matt hears Peter scoop Molly up and hug her tightly before tossing her, shrieking and laughing, onto the couch. “See ya later, Jack.”

“Bye, Pete,” Jack says. He lets go of Matt’s hand to return Peter’s hug. Peter slaps Matt on the back and leaves, closing and locking the door behind himself. Matt turns to Jack and Molly.

“Teeth brushed?” Matt asks. Usually, it’s Foggy’s job to do their checklist, but Foggy’s not here right now. He’ll do it tomorrow.

“Yup!” Molly exclaims.

“Yeah,” Jack answers.

“Pajamas on?” Matt asks, and they both say yes. “Alright, then, bedtime.”

“Daddy, your hands are bloody,” Molly tells him. Matt touches the fingertips of his left hand to the palm of his right; sure enough, they’re sticky, tacky. The scent of blood has filled his head so much he didn’t even realize it was on him, too.

“I’ll wash my hands before I tuck you in,” Matt says. “Go, get in bed, I’ll be right in.”

“Okay!” Molly agrees. Matt hears her sprint away, but Jack doesn’t go, not right away. He hesitates.

“Your dad’s okay,” Matt tells him. “He just didn’t want you to go to bed without one of us here, he’ll be home soon.”

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but, then, he asks, softly, “Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Matt agrees. There’s no reason not to, after all. Jack comes over and hugs Matt, for a long moment, before releasing him. “Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right in.”

“Okay,” Jack agrees. He leaves, heading to his bedroom, next to Molly’s. Matt goes to the bathroom, dumps Foggy’s jacket in the hamper, and scrubs at his hands until the scent of blood leaves them. The whole time, he can’t stop thinking about Bullseye, and Foggy, and Maxwell Glenn, and Fisk. The thoughts swirl in his head as he washes his hands over and over. He wonders what’s wrong with Foggy. He wonders how Glenn hired Bullseye. He wonders what’s wrong with Foggy. He wonders what part Fisk plays in all this, because he always plays  _ some  _ part in all this. He wonders what’s wrong with Foggy.

“Daddy!” Molly calls from across the hall, and Matt snaps out of his own head. He shuts the water off and shakes his hands dry on his way to her room. She’s already half-asleep; her heartbeat is slowing down. She sleeps like Foggy: asleep instantly and stays that way until morning. Matt sits down on the edge of her bed and smoothes wisps of hair back from her face. Her hair is mostly still in the tight French braid Foggy had done for her that morning, but she’s a rough-and-tumble kid. The loose hairs pulling out of the braid are evidence of that.

“How was your afternoon?” Matt asks. Molly sighs.

“It was good,” Molly tells him. “Pete took us to the park and I ran way faster than Jack.”

“Did you?” Matt asks. Molly nods, turning her face into Matt’s palm and yawning. “You’ll have to show me tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Molly says. “And Daddy’s gonna be back in the morning?”

“Yup,” Matt tells him. “The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you’ll wake up, and the sooner he’ll be home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Molly agrees. She yawns again, so Matt just leans back against the headboard of her bed, running his hand over the top of her head until she falls entirely asleep. He holds her for a little while longer before he kisses the top of her head, shuts out her light, and leaves her room to go to Jack’s.

Jack isn’t quite as ready to sleep as Molly. He’s still fully awake and, when Matt sits on the edge of his bed, he scoots over to sit closer to him. Matt shifts to lean against his headboard, too, and lets Jack lean into his side. He puts his arm around him and just holds him there.

“Is Daddy really going to be okay?” Jack asks. Matt nods.

“He will,” Matt tells him.

“Are you going to hurt whoever hurt him?” Jack asks. Matt knows that Jack mostly understands all the Daredevil stuff, but he also knows that Jack wants to join him in it, that he wants to help, and that it makes him anxious to think about. Matt tries to keep it from the two of them, but Jack seems to know all about it anyways.

“I don’t know,” Matt says, because he told himself he’d never lie to Jack, but he can’t just tell his nine-year-old son that he wants to kill whoever hurt his father. No matter how adult said nine-year-old acts. Jack nods.

“I want to hurt them,” Jack says. Matt holds him closer, tighter.

“I know,” Matt says. “But we can’t. What do Murdocks do?”

“The right thing,” Jack tells him. “But sometimes, the right thing is fighting for people we love. Right?”

“Sometimes,” Matt says. “But you have to be smart about it.”

Jack is quiet for a second, and then he says, “I get so angry sometimes, Daddy.”

Matt bends in half to cover his son, to hold him close and bury his face in his hair. “I know you do. I know. But we have to control it, right? We control our anger and we make it productive. What’s—” That thing Foggy always asks. Matt can’t remember it.

“Feelings meter?” Jack asks. Matt nods.

“That, yes, I’m sorry,” Matt says. Jack shrugs.

“I’m sad,” Jack tells him, “and I’m mad. I want to punch someone.”

Matt strokes his hair, holds him tight. “Close your eyes. Get some rest. Slow down.”

“Okay,” Jack says. His heartbeat doesn’t slow down for a while, but, eventually, it does. It slows, then his breathing settles, then he slips into sleep. Matt waits until he’s asleep enough not to be woken up when Matt moves, but Matt doesn’t move, not right away. He stays, shutting his eyes, holding Jack there and letting his weight ground him until he’s calm enough himself to sleep, too.


	2. whisper the word that I never thought I'd ever say

Matt wakes up to his cell phone ringing and vibrating in his pocket, repeating  _ Foggy, Foggy, Foggy— _

“Dad?” Jack asks, lifting his head, and Matt pats him on the head, dragging himself out of bed without dislodging Jack too much.

“Go back to sleep,” Matt whispers to him, and he feels Jack nod under his hand as he settles back in against the pillows. Matt slips out of his room, shutting the door softly behind himself and answering the phone in the hallway.

“Foggy?” Matt asks. “What time is it? Are you okay?”

“Can you get Peter to come back?” Foggy asks, ignoring Matt’s questions. Matt is, instantly, wide awake. He wishes he could hear Foggy’s heartbeat over the phone. “Or— I don’t know. Call Karen or Jess. I need you to come back down here.”

“Is everything okay?” Matt asks again. “What happened?”

“Just come down here, Matt,” Foggy tells him. His voice breaks in the middle. Matt’s heartbeat speeds up, pounding in his chest. “I love you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Matt says. “I love you, too. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Matt, please,” Foggy says, and his voice is fully broken up. Matt feels tears in his own eyes, even without knowing what’s going on. “I just need you to come down here, we’re not talking about this over the phone.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Matt tells him. “I love you, Foggy. Don’t do anything until I get down there.”

“I love you, too,” Foggy says, and hangs up. Matt holds his phone tightly for a long, long moment, the wheels spinning in his head as he tries to wake up and figure out what’s going on. Then, he taps his phone back to life and calls Jess. Danny answers.

“Hello?” Danny asks, voice slurred with sleep. “Something goin’ on?”

“Can one of you take Jack and Molly?” Matt asks. “Come and stay with them? Foggy’s— I don’t know. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Yeah, sure,” Danny says, sounding a lot more awake. “What’s going on? He okay?”

“I don’t know,” Matt repeats. He can hear Danny shuffling and whispering to Jess and Luke.

“I’ll be right there, give me ten minutes,” Danny says, and hangs up. Matt appreciates him a great deal, in this moment, as he pulls himself together enough to leave the house at two in the morning. Luckily, he supposes, he fell asleep in his clothes, so he’s basically ready to go five minutes before Danny even shows up. He spends those five minutes pacing back and forth across his living room, thinking of everything that could possibly be going wrong, before Danny shows up, knocking at the door. Matt lets him in.

“Jesus, you look like death,” Danny comments. He yawns; Matt hears his jaw crack. “They both asleep?”

“Yeah,” Matt tells him. “Hopefully we won’t be gone long.”

“Take your time,” Danny says. He claps Matt on the shoulder and walks past him, collapsing onto his couch. “I’ll be right here, they’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Danny,” Matt says, before he climbs out of the living room window. He ignores Danny’s huff of laughter as he takes to the rooftops and sprints across them, as fast as he can go. It’s easier than running through the streets. By the time he’s close to the hospital, it hasn’t been all that long, but he still feels as though it’s been an eternity. He leaps to the ground a couple of buildings away, then runs back to the emergency room, asking for Foggy.

“Oh, of course,” the nurse says, and her heart skips a beat, and Matt’s own heart sinks. He lets himself be led through the hallways of the hospital. He always hates hospitals — the smells, the sounds, the death and illness surrounding him, choking him. It’s too much. Right now, though, he can barely focus on that. He’s too busy searching out Foggy’s heartbeat in it all. It doesn’t take long to find; he’s been listening to it for years. It’s pounding, now. He’s scared.

“I’m sorry, are— Are we close?” Matt asks. The nurse pats his hand.

“You’re almost there,” she tells him. “I’m sorry, this must be disorienting for you.”

“It’s fine,” Matt replies automatically. His every thought is focused on Foggy. The nurse gets him to the room Foggy’s in in what feels like six hours, but couldn’t have been longer than five minutes. She hesitates outside the door, so Matt pauses.

“Let them know if you need anything, okay?” she says. “Tell them Alice told you to ask. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you,” Matt says, sincerely, because he means it. He can smell that she’s been here for far too long; she’s exhausted, she hasn’t eaten in hours, and she’s still reaching out to him. She squeezes his hand and lets him go to open the door.

“Mr. Murdock is here,” Alice tells the room. Foggy’s heartbeat is inside, and it spikes when Matt comes in. Matt goes right to him, finds him sitting down; he puts his hands on Foggy’s shoulders, stands behind him, buries his face in Foggy’s hair and inhales. He’s exhausted and unsettled and afraid; Foggy is grounding. He also smells like fear, and sickness, and blood, still.

“What is it?” Matt asks, voice low.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Murdock,” the doctor says. She’s behind a desk, and Matt can sense the other chair in the room. There’s other objects — bookshelves, he thinks, and a second desk against the wall — but Matt’s disoriented enough from focusing solely on Foggy’s heartbeat. It’s hard to place himself. Foggy takes his hand, guides it to the back of the other chair. Matt’s so grateful for him, it  _ hurts,  _ in this moment of intense fear.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks. Foggy withdraws his hand. Matt wants, desperately, to drag him closer.

“Mr. Murdock, I’m sorry,” the doctor says. Foggy’s— crying, Matt realizes, in the next instant. It’s salt, in the air. Matt reaches out, and Foggy takes his hand. “We’re about ninety-nine percent certain Franklin—”

“Foggy,” Matt interrupts.

“Yeah?” Foggy asks.

“No, his name is  _ Foggy,”  _ Matt insists. “That’s— It’s his name. He prefers it.”

“Matt,” Foggy says softly.

“No, it’s okay,” the doctor says. “I didn’t even introduce myself, I’m sorry. I’m Dr. Cynthia Morrison.”

“Matt Murdock,” Matt says. “And this is Foggy.”

“Murdock,” Foggy finishes. “We’ve met.”

“We have,” Dr. Morrison says. It sounds like she’s smiling, but only a little bit. Foggy huffs a laugh. It’s not real. “Matt, Foggy, I’m sorry. We think it’s Ewing’s sarcoma. I’m going to fast-track you for more tests, but we’ll just be confirming it. It’s cancer, but you’ve got a tumor— It’s on your hip, so we can remove the tumor and pursue a rigorous chemotherapy round. I’m going to match you with a specialist to meet with this week and get the ball rolling on your tests and surgery. Is that okay?”

Foggy nods. Matt hears his hair brush his shoulders. He hears everything about Foggy, in this moment. His heart pounding in his chest. His blood zipping through his veins. His muscles pulling as he puts his head in his free hand. His left hand is still holding onto Matt. Matt breaks first.

“Is he going to survive?” Matt asks. Foggy’s breath hitches.

“I don’t know,” Dr. Morrison tells them. Her heartbeat is fast, but steady. She’s telling the truth. “All I know are numbers. Typically, if it’s still localized and hasn’t spread, the five-year survival rate is around seventy percent. If it’s metastatic — if it’s spread to another part of the body — the five-year survival rate is around fifteen to thirty percent.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, quiet. “Can we go home?”

“I’ll get you a referral and you can make an appointment,” Dr. Morrison says. “Then, yes, you can go home.” There’s a beat of silence where nobody says anything. “I’m going to go get a nurse, she’ll help you make the appointment. She should be here in a couple of minutes. Take the time in my office.”

“Thanks, doc,” Foggy says. Matt doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say. Dr. Morrison leaves the office, the door shutting gently behind her. Once she’s gone, Foggy’s hand pulls out of Matt’s, and Matt hears him drop his head into both of his hands, curling up in the chair. Matt stands, sitting on the arm of Foggy’s chair and wrapping himself around Foggy.

“You’re going to be okay,” Matt whispers to him. Foggy shakes his head, turning to bury his face in Matt’s side. Matt strokes his hair back and listens to Foggy’s body. He’s in shock. He’s getting sweaty, clammy, his pulse is pounding, his breathing is quickening. Matt feels like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin. All he can think is,  _ not him, not him, we’re not done yet. _

Matt’s so used to fighting. He’s always been able to fight his way out of anything. His fists and his legs and his strength and his stamina have carried him through everything. He can’t fight back against this. He can’t physically fight illness. He can’t just— just  _ punch  _ his way through cancer. He can’t save Foggy like he’s used to doing. This isn’t Wilson Fisk, dangling a threat over Matt’s head. This is inside of Foggy’s body, and it won’t be reasoned with or bargained with or destroyed, not by Matt.

“I’m not going to be okay, Matt,” Foggy whispers. “I was googling it on my phone before you got here, Matt, we can’t afford chemotherapy—”

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll find a way—”

“There’s no  _ finding a way,  _ we have two—  _ Christ,  _ we’re going to have three kids,” Foggy says, and his voice hitches again. He’s crying all over again. “No matter how well the firm is doing, Matt, we can’t afford it.”

“I’m not letting you die,” Matt says. He knows, in this moment, that he will do anything and everything to keep Foggy alive. Absolutely anything. “We can do this.”

“We gotta figure stuff out first,” Foggy says. “I need— God, like, a will, or something—”

“Don’t say that,” Matt tells him. Foggy shakes his head again. “Don’t say that. I’m going to help you.”

“Big chance I can’t be helped,” Foggy says, and then he just says, quietly, “God, I don’t want to die, Matt. I can’t stop thinking about Jack and Molly. I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” Matt says. He doesn’t believe it, but he says it. Foggy’s sobbing under his hands, and Matt’s already thinking a thousand things, all at once. He has to get Foggy home. He has to tell Danny something. He has to tell Jack and Molly, too. He has to go to— Somewhere. He has to talk to Tony Stark, maybe. Hank Pym. Bruce Banner. Any of them. They might know what to do, or be able to help. They all like Foggy. Maybe they know something.

Foggy’s still crying. Matt buries his face in Foggy’s hair and shifts, rocking slightly, just trying to give him any measure of comfort. Foggy won’t be comforted. He’s the comforter. Matt feels dangerously out of his depth, having their roles so violently reversed like this. There’s a knock at the door. Matt feels like he’s living in a nightmare that he can’t make himself wake up from.

The nurse, Alice, helps Foggy make an appointment for three days from now with some specialist. Foggy nods and collects his paperwork and escorts Matt out of the hospital. His heartbeat is slowing to a normal pace: almost too normal. Almost too steady. He’s freaking out and plateauing into calm.

“What’re we gonna tell the kids?” Foggy asks in the cab on the way home. “I don’t want to scare them, not before we know anything for sure.”

Matt doesn’t say that they do know for sure, because he knows what Foggy means. Matt’s skin is crawling. He feels like he’s going to burst.

“We’ll just say you’re sick,” Matt says. “And that we’re figuring it out. We won’t tell them what it is yet.”

“Okay,” Foggy says. Matt wants to punch something. Foggy’s supposed to be chatty. He’s supposed to be emotional. He’s not supposed to be this quiet thing right next to him. Foggy’s always been everyone’s rock; he’s their grounding force. This isn’t him. This is him trying to fill the role, even now, even when he most needs someone else to do it.

Matt doesn’t say it, but he can’t help but think,  _ why, why now.  _ Why  _ now,  _ when Fisk and Bullseye are after them, trying to kill them both? When Daredevil is trying to fix this city? When they’re just supposed to be having another baby? Why is this happening  _ now,  _ when there’s no space for something like this? Why this, when Matt needs Foggy more than he ever has before?

“I can’t lose you,” is all Matt says. It doesn’t encapsulate everything he’s feeling, the fear, the terror, the rage, the sorrow. The desperation is clawing at him. He can’t put it into words. That was never his strength. Foggy nods. He leans against Matt, rests his head on Matt’s shoulder.

“I’ll do everything I can,” Foggy says. It’s almost supposed to be a joke.

“It’s not your fault,” Matt says. He turns to Foggy, tips his head in Foggy’s direction. He realizes he forgot his glasses. He wonders how people responded to him at the hospital. He doesn’t give a  _ shit.  _ He doesn’t  _ care.  _ “Foggy, you could never— I couldn’t— I  _ won’t,  _ I—” He tries to take a breath.  _ “Shit.” _

“Matt, calm down,” Foggy tells him. Matt’s breath shudders out of him. “We’ll go home, we’ll get some sleep, and we’ll figure it out in the morning. Okay?”

“I love you,” Matt says, instead of answering. “So much.”

“I love you, too, Matt,” Foggy replies. Matt commits the sentence to memory, just in case, and just that  _ thought  _ starts him crying again, and Foggy starts crying, and they’re home far too soon. They both have to compose themselves on the sidewalk before they go into the building.

“Wow, what happened?” Danny asks anyways, the second they walk in the door and he startles awake. Foggy shakes his head.

“I’ll talk to him,” Matt says. “You go get some rest.”

“Thanks,” Foggy says. He turns to Danny; Matt can hear his heartbeat change. He’s smiling. He’s putting on an act. “Sorry, you know how it is. Rough night. I’ll see you later, yeah? We’re still doing dinner Saturday night?”

“If you want,” Danny says. Foggy nods, gives him a thumbs-up, and leaves. He doesn’t go into their bedroom; he goes into Molly’s. Matt hears the mattress creak. Molly sleeps more deeply of the two of them; she doesn’t wake up when Foggy curls around her and cries. Matt tunes him out so he can focus on Danny when he asks, “Hey, man, what happened?”

“Foggy’s— sick,” Matt says. He doesn’t have the energy to make up a lie, or a half-truth, or anything even remotely believable. “We’re figuring it out. Sorry to drag you out here in the middle of the night.”

“No, man, it’s okay,” Danny tells him. Danny moves carefully, broadcasting his motions as he goes, and Matt knows his hand is coming before it lands on his shoulder. Danny squeezes him, then pulls him into a hug. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be alright, Matty, okay? You let me know what you need.”

Matt nods, holds Danny for a moment. He listens to Foggy fall asleep in Molly’s bed. He’s exhausted; they all are.

“Actually, I do need something,” Matt says. Danny nods.

“Yeah, anything,” Danny tells him. He pulls back. “What is it?”

“Come to Avengers Tower with me,” Matt says. “Right now.”

“Is Foggy okay alone?” Danny asks. Matt nods.

“Of the two of us, he’s the much better option to be with the kids right now,” Matt says. He turns and starts heading for the door, and Danny, bless him, just follows without asking why. Until they get to the street, of course, and then it’s a question a minute, but that’s just Danny. He has good sense, but not common sense.

“It’s called Ewing’s sarcoma,” Matt tells Danny, on their run to Avengers Tower. It’s not far away from Matt and Foggy’s apartment. Danny’s heartbeat speeds up, not from running, but with emotion. Matt wants to reassure him, but he doesn’t have it in him yet. “He needs surgery, chemotherapy, and it’s not— The chances are bad. It’s horrible. I don’t— I can only think that maybe one of them can do something. Or knows someone. They’re the smartest fucking people on the  _ planet,  _ they have to know  _ something.” _

“Matt,” Danny says. “Dude, I’m sorry. Anything I can do, tell me. If it’s money— Man, I have more money than I know what to do with. I’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Matt says. “I— Thank you, Danny.”

“Can’t do enough for the father of my goddaughter,” Danny says. It’s phrased like a joke, but neither of them laughs. “I’ll help. We’ll help.”

Matt nods. He keeps following Danny’s footfalls to Avengers Tower. They both press their thumbs to the scanner inside the lobby, and there’s a loud buzz as one of the elevators opens up to allow them in.

“Welcome, Mr. Murdock, Mr. Rand,” a voice says over the speakers. Matt twitches his head to listen. It’s Tony Stark’s AI; Matt hasn’t quite adjusted to it yet. “Who’ve you come to see? Almost everyone is asleep.”

“Who’s awake?” Matt asks.

“Mr. Stark,” the AI says.

“Then bring us to him,” Danny answers. The elevator kicks up and silently zips up to Tony Stark’s laboratory. Danny squeezes Matt’s shoulder again. Matt puts his hand over Danny’s, just for a second, and squeezes back.

“Hornhead,” Tony Stark says, in lieu of a proper greeting, the moment the elevator opens. “Oh, and the Kung Fu Killer. Get in here, what’s up, you both look like you saw a ghost.”

“Foggy’s in trouble,” Danny says, when Matt doesn’t answer right away. Tony Stark puts down whatever’s in his hands. His labs are always difficult for Matt to get his bearings in; there’s so much metal and glass, it’s disorienting at the best of times, and these are the complete opposite of that.

“What are we talking here?” Tony asks. To his credit, he’s instantly in action, automatically ready to help. “Kidnapping, threats, what?”

“Cancer,” Matt says. Tony, for a moment, stops.

“Cancer?” Tony repeats. Matt nods. “Well. Alright. What do you need from us? World’s mightiest heroes, I don’t really know what we can—”

“He doesn’t have much of a chance,” Matt tells him. “But— We have to do  _ something.  _ We’re supposed to have another baby, Karen’s— We’re having another baby, it’s a boy, and Bullseye is trying to kill us again, and Foggy’s going to die.” Matt feels his eyes burning. The back of his nose is prickling. He’s snapping, a little bit. “Foggy’s going to die, and I— Please. God, we have to do  _ something,  _ and if anyone— If anyone would know what to do, it’s you, or— or Banner, or Hank Pym, I don’t know, but we have to do  _ something—” _

“Whoa, whoa, horns, slow down,” Tony says. Danny’s hand is on his shoulder again as Matt catches his breath. “I’ll go wake up Banner, you’re right, and we’ll call Pym and his kid down here. I’ll call Richards, too, and we can set up Skype with Shuri. Between all of us, Christ, there’s nothing we can’t do, okay? We’ll figure this out, take a breath. Can’t lose our favorite babysitter, now, can we?”

Matt grabs at his hair, tugs at it with his hands. Danny pulls his arms away, pulls them down to his sides, holds him. Matt’s still listening for Foggy’s heartbeat, blocks away. Tony leaves the two of them there to go grab Bruce Banner while his AI places calls to the Pyms, Reed Richards, and T’Challa and Shuri in Wakanda. Matt focuses on breathing while Danny tries to guide him in some quick meditative breathing, but it’s nearly impossible. Matt’s almost at a breaking point.

“Alright, we’ve got the council,” Tony says, re-entering the room with a yawning Bruce Banner behind him. The AIs got screens up for everyone else, and Matt just sits and listens to them all discuss things he doesn’t even begin to understand. Tony’s already hacked into the hospital’s database and pulled up Foggy’s medical records which, of course he has. They’re discussing the different forms of radiation and chemotherapy and treatment. Shuri’s talking about medical research she’s been doing on something similar. Hank Pym has a lot of suggestions. Matt can barely process any of it. He’s close to freaking out.

“So, that’s the long and the short of it, Murdock,” Tony says. “Pym’s got an alternative treatment for you, but it’s gonna fucking suck. Is he up for it?”

“I’m sure he is,” Matt says. He shifts, turns his head like he’s looking at the screens. He knows it makes people more comfortable when he acts like he can see. He’s deeply grateful and also achingly terrified. He’s itching for a fight, and there’s nothing to  _ fight.  _ “I’ll bring him back tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Bruce says. “Get some rest, we’ll— I mean, we’ll also get some rest, I’m exhausted, personally—”

“Sleep,” Shuri says. “There’s nothing more we can do right now.”

“He’ll be okay,” Hank Pym says, and Matt nods, dropping his face into his hands for a moment, rubbing at his eyes. Danny’s hand lands on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades. Matt nods, then stands. Danny withdraws.

“Thank you all,” Matt says, “so much. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Of course,” Hope tells him. “We protect our own.”

Matt nods. He’s been part of this for so long, these people are like— they’re like family. They’re all a part of his family. He’s glad to have them, always, but especially right now.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Matt says, “with Foggy. Thank you, again.”

“Go home,” Danny says. Matt nods, and he leaves Avengers Tower, and he does go home, but only briefly. He goes home and puts on the Daredevil suit. He takes a revolver from an apartment down the block with an open window. He dumps out the bullets inside of it and seeks out Bullseye. It’s the perfect way to channel all this intense energy he has: to find Bullseye and eliminate one of the threats coming after him and Foggy.

Bullseye isn’t hard to find. He has a specific way of holding himself, which means he has a specific way of breathing, which means he has a specific heartbeat. He’s holed up in some shitty apartment in Queens. Matt finds him and smashes his window in, launching him into Bullseye’s bedroom. He pins Bullseye to the bed by his throat before he’s even fully awake.

“Hello,” Matt says. “Bullseye, right?”

“What the fuck,” Bullseye gasps. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to play a game,” Matt says. He releases Bullseye throat. “Don’t move. I’ll know if you do. And if you shoot me, it won’t kill me.” He taps on his own helmet with his knuckles. “Bulletproof.”

“What the fuck kind of a game?” Bullseye demands. “What sick shit is this?”

“It’s called Russian roulette,” Matt says. He puts the revolver on the bed between them. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. I aim and fire at myself, then you, then so on until one of us dies. Got it?”

“You  _ just  _ told me your helmet’s bulletproof,” Bullseye told him. “Besides, why the fuck would I go along with this?”

Matt’s hand snaps out, slamming his knuckles into Bullseye’s chest, then his throat, knocking the breath out of him. He tugs his helmet off; he’s got the scarf on underneath, covering his face. He came prepared. He’s always thought he should use this on Bullseye.

“Because I said so,” Matt tells him. “What? Think you’re going to lose?”

“Fuck you,” Bullseye says. But Matt can hear him caving in. He can hear him lusting after the game. He can hear how badly he wants to win, how sure he is that he  _ will  _ win. Matt picks up the pistol, holds it to his own head, and fires.

Nothing happens.

Matt turns the pistol around and hands it to Bullseye. The even-numbered turns go to him. Bullseye feels the weight of the pistol in his hand, shifts it around. Matt waits until he hears the click of an empty barrel firing. He takes the pistol back, fires without hesitation, and gives it to Bullseye again. He’s hesitant, this time, when he takes it.

“I don’t know what kind of fucking game you’re playing here,” Bullseye says. He sounds a little more nervous. Still confident, but not enough, not as much. He holds the pistol up to his own head again, fires. Matt takes the pistol back. He holds it up to his temple. Bullseye’s holding his breath.

Matt fires.

Nothing happens.

“Oh, fuck this,” Bullseye says, but Matt’s hand snaps out and wraps around his throat.

“Honor the game,” Matt tells him. “You’re nothing if not a man of your word, right? So, do it.” Matt tightens his grip with one hand and shoves the pistol at Bullseye with the other. Bullseye takes it, holds it up to his own head. His heartbeat is fast, pounding, steady. Acceptance. Thrill. Exhilaration. Both of them are insane.

Bullseye fires at his own head.

Nothing happens.

Bullseye exhales, all at once. Matt releases him, and Bullseye fires the gun at the wall, several times. Nothing happens. It just clicks through the barrel. He opens the thing up, and there’s nothing inside.

“What the fuck is this?” Bullseye asks. Matt pulls his fist back and releases, slamming it into Bullseye’s face. He snaps backwards, head banging into the wall behind him. Matt pins him to the bed and punches him again, and again, and again. Bullseye struggles to push him off, but Matt won’t be moved. When he’s finally had enough — when he feels less like his flesh is going to slide off his body — he stops, and stands. He takes the pistol back.

“It’s a warning,” Matt says. “Stay away from the Murdocks. They’re under my protection. Fisk knows it, and now you know it. Leave. Them. Alone. Or it won’t be empty next time.” Matt cocks his head slightly. “Or maybe it will. You’re so easy.” Matt scoops his helmet back up and slides it onto his head. He leaves Bullseye there, gasping for air in his bed, bloody but alive.

This is Bullseye’s greatest grudge against Daredevil, but Matt won’t know that. Not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm yoinking some of this right from the comics. The Russian roulette, Hank Pym's treatment for Foggy, et cetera -- all comics stuff. Also, Maxwell Glenn, and all of that. Combining them with the movies and the shows and everything into one big ol' self-indulgent mess.


	3. when your soul embarks

Matt wakes Foggy up early the next day. It’s a school day, it’s a Thursday, but Foggy’s heart is pounding while he’s getting Molly dressed for the day, so Matt makes the executive decision to pull them from class for the day and take them along to Avengers Tower.

“What?” Foggy asks, when Matt says it. “Why’re we going there?”

“Molly,” Matt says. He hears Foggy sit down on the edge of Molly’s bed. “Go ask your brother for help with breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Molly agrees. Foggy’s just finishing up her second braid. Matt can tell she knows something’s wrong. Jack knows, too, but neither of them have figured it out just yet. Molly runs out of the room.

“What did you do, Matt?” Foggy asks, the second Molly’s gone.

“Danny and I went to Tony Stark last night,” Matt says, and Foggy groans. Matt hears his head drop into his hands.

“Why?” Foggy asks. “Why would you— What— Matt,  _ why?” _

“Because they all love you,” Matt tells him. “They want to help you. Danny—”

“Matt,” Foggy says. His voice breaks. Matt isn’t expecting it. “Does— Do they all know? Does everyone  _ know?” _

“I— Yes,” Matt answers, bewildered. He sits down next to Foggy on Molly’s bed. “I’m sorry, I— I didn’t— I’m just— They can help.”

“They can  _ help?”  _ Foggy asks. “Matt, they haven’t even finished with the tests—”

“You  _ know  _ that’s not true,” Matt says. He didn’t get a lot of sleep. His knuckles are bruised. He’s  _ scared.  _ Foggy’s crying. “Foggy.”

Foggy reaches out and takes one of Matt’s hands in his. “I already started coming up with a plan, alright, we— I,  _ I  _ go and get the tests done, we get a second opinion, and then we start whatever treatment we can afford. That’s a good plan. That’s— That’s the  _ only  _ plan.”

Matt’s chest hurts. Foggy’s too used to it, to this, to being the one who makes the plans and figures things out and holds everything together. He’s the rock. He shouldn’t have to be the rock, when he’s the one hurting. Matt doesn’t know how to tell him that in words, so, instead, he says, “I talked to Tony.”

There’s silence for a while. Then, Foggy asks, “And what did he say? He’s not a doctor.”

“No, but Bruce is,” Matt tells him. Foggy’s heartbeat thumps in an odd way. “They called everyone. Hank Pym, Reed Richards, T’Challa, Shuri. They came up with a plan.”

Foggy’s silent again. Matt doesn’t know if he’s waiting for Matt to say more or not, so he waits. Eventually, Foggy sighs. “What kind of a plan?”

“It’s a new sort of treatment Pym’s been working on,” Matt tells him, just pleased to have Foggy listening to him. “He thinks it’ll work. It’s going to— Well, in Tony’s words, it’s going to, uhh, ‘fucking suck,’” Matt says, and Foggy huffs a laugh. “But it’s an alternative treatment. It might save you.”

“I don’t know,” Foggy says, but his heart’s pounding. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“What’ve we got to lose?” Matt asks. Foggy’s hands make sounds as they whiz through the air, Foggy making some sort of gesturing motion.

“All of this?” Foggy answers. “Everything?”

“We’d lose it anyways,” Matt says, softly. Foggy exhales. His breath is shaking out of his lungs. “Foggy, please. At least come with me to hear them talk about it. Please.”

Foggy runs his fingers through his hair. Matt wishes they were still holding hands. “Fine. Fine! I’ll go. I’ll listen. But  _ just because  _ Hank Pym’s usually not insane, and because I  _ know  _ Shuri’s probably the smartest person on this planet.” Foggy’s quiet for another second, but Matt can hear the way he’s breathing, and he knows he wants to say something else.

His patience pays off.

“Why?” Foggy eventually asks. He doesn’t elaborate.

“Why what?” Matt asks.

“Why do they want to help me?” Foggy clarifies.  _ “Me?  _ I’m— I mean, in all fairness, I’m nobody. They’re, like, scientists and geniuses and kings and millionaires, and I’m—”

“Foggy,” Matt interrupts.

“What?”

“No, you’re Foggy,” Matt says. “You’re Foggy. You’re the best lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen. You’re everybody’s best friend. You’re a father. You protect everyone who comes to us for help. You protect people who  _ don’t  _ even come to us for help. You watch all their kids. You talk them through their problems.” Matt reaches out, cups Foggy’s face in his hand. “Foggy, I see you.”

Foggy huffs a laugh. “Matt.”

“I’m serious,” Matt says. “I don’t— I don’t mean literally. I mean, I  _ see  _ you. In the end, the world doesn’t matter. We matter.  _ You  _ matter. And I can not— I  _ will not  _ let you die. Foggy, I  _ won’t.” _

Foggy doesn’t say anything for a long, long time. Then, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy says. “Let’s go.”

Matt exhales, gently, and Foggy leans his face into his hand. Matt leans and presses their foreheads together, then kisses Foggy between the eyes before he stands.

* * *

Tony and Bruce present Foggy with the presentation they’ve somehow put together on Pym’s treatment plan and the formulas and the chemicals and the— the everything. Matt sits on the couch with Molly in his lap while Jack talks a mile a minute to Steve Rogers. Jack may look a lot like Matt, but he inherited Foggy’s mouth.

“How’re you holding up?” Bucky Barnes asks, on Matt’s other side. Matt tips his head in his direction.

“I’m fine,” Matt says. He’s very aware of Molly’s head on his shoulder as she leans back against his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, already turning his head to listen to them. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t take us out of school unless something was wrong. What happened?”

“Something happened?” Molly asks. Matt sighs.

“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs.

“It’s going to be okay,” Matt says, and as he says it his chest clenches, because he said he’d never lie to Jack and Molly, and he doesn’t  _ know  _ if things are going to be okay. Foggy’s not even in the room to help him.

“Hey, we can go?” Steve offers. “If you—”

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, and his heart is pounding now. “Is it about Daredevil? Did you get hurt?”

“Oh, what’s going on in here?” Foggy asks from the doorway. Matt tilts his head towards him, and he hears Jack sprint over to Foggy and collide with his legs. “Hey, buddy, what’s wrong? Your face is all red.”

“Something’s wrong,” Jack tells him. “Daddy wouldn’t tell me what it is.” Foggy’s quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything, for a long while, before he finally asks, “Daddy, what is it?”

“Molly, come over here,” Foggy says. Matt leans forward to set Molly on her feet, and she runs over to Foggy. Steve shifts, presumably to look at Foggy, or to look away. Bucky’s holding his breath; Matt could almost forget he was there. He’s good at what he does.

Matt hears Foggy sit cross-legged on the ground and pull Molly and Jack into his lap. He can hear the rustle of Foggy stroking Jack’s hair back from his face.

“What is it?” Jack asks.

“I’m sick,” Foggy says. That’s all he says before Molly’s crying. Molly’s a cryer; she feels everything so intensely. She’s a lot like Foggy, in that way. “And it’s not great, but I’m going to get better.”

“Are you helping?” Jack demands.

“Trying, kid,” Tony says. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“You have to help him,” Jack says. Matt hears him get to his feet, so he stands, too, crossing the room to them and putting his hands on Jack’s shoulders. Jack whirls around — to look up at Matt, he assumes. “What do we do? What is it?”

“Jack, you have to calm down,” Matt tells him. He can hear Molly crying. He doesn’t know how much she even understands, if she knows what this means. Jack seems to know enough; Matt reaches down and takes his hands, balled up into tight fists. He smooths out his fingers, then kneels in front of his son.

“What do we do?” Jack asks again. His voice is tense, tight, hard; he doesn’t sound like he’s nine years old. He sounds like Matt. “We have to  _ do  _ something.” There’s salt in the air, again. Jack’s crying. “Daddy, what do we do?”

Matt’s never lied to Jack before. He’s not going to start now. “Dr. Pym has a treatment. We’re going to try that. It’s supposed to help and it should save—” Matt stops himself, heart stopping for an instant, but it’s too late. Jack’s breath catches, and he’s tearing himself out of Matt’s grip to go to Foggy, flinging himself at him.

“You can’t die,” Jack insists, desperate, crying. Matt’s chest feels like it’s been torn open. “Daddy, you  _ can’t die,  _ I won’t let you—”

“Please,” Molly keeps saying, “please, please don’t, I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, the two of you, it’s going to be okay,” Foggy says. Matt’s still kneeling in the same spot. He feels frozen. “When have I ever lied to you?”

“Never,” Molly answers. Jack doesn’t say anything; his hiccuping breathing is muffled by Foggy’s chest.

“Right,” Foggy says. “And I’m not starting now, that’s for damn sure. Okay? Everything is going to be okay, we’re going to make sure of it. I’d never let anything happen, not to the two of you. Ever. I promise.”

Part of Matt wishes Foggy wouldn’t make that promise. A bigger, more desperate part of him is just so happy to hear him say it.

“Daddy?” Sarah’s voice cuts through. Her heart is pounding. “I know you said to stay down the hall, but we were watching TV and Uncle Matt’s face is on the news.”

Matt’s heart sinks again for the second time is as many minutes. He hears Tony instruct the AI to turn on the television, and then the sounds of the news fill the room.

“If you’re just tuning in, we have information from a former FBI agent, now operating under the alias Bullseye,” the anchor’s saying. Matt stands, his hands going numb. “He’s informed all major news outlets that Daredevil’s true identity is Matthew Murdock, well-known lawyer in Hell’s Kitchen, founding partner of the law firm Murdock and Murdock, and son of Battlin’ Jack Murdock, who famously—”

“Shut it off,” Foggy says. The TV goes mute. The room is completely silent for a long, long time. Then, Foggy says, “Call Karen, bring her down here.”

“On it,” Bucky says.

“What does this mean?” Molly asks. “What do we do? That’s supposed to be secret.”

“It means we’re fucked,” Jack tells her.

“Jack, don’t say that word,” Foggy says automatically.

“Why? We are,” Jack says. “You’re going to die and everyone’s going to try to kill Daddy and our lives are  _ ruined.” _

Matt clenches his hands into fists. His life is collapsing. Foggy is dying. His children are telling him that their lives are ruined because of him. His name and his face are plastered all over every screen and newspaper in the state, if not the country.

“Karen’s on her way,” Bucky tells them. There’s another moment of nothing happening.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Foggy repeats. He stands up. “Listen to me, all of you. Everybody looks like somebody died, so, look at me. People know Tony is Iron Man. People know Steve is Captain America. So, now, people know Matt is Daredevil. It sucks — of course it sucks. We’ve put a lot of work into hiding that, but it’s happened, so we’re going to deal with it. We’re going to hide the kids, we’re going to figure out what Bullseye’s plan is, and we’re going to stop him, and we’re going to keep living our lives. None of us are dead yet. We’re a  _ team.  _ We are a  _ team,  _ and  _ nobody  _ is going to die, and  _ nobody’s  _ life is ruined, so help me  _ God.  _ So, start getting your shit together,  _ right now.” _

Foggy exhales, shakily, and Matt forgets about everything else in favor of going to him and wrapping his arm around him, holding him up when Foggy leans heavily into his side. Matt turns his face into Foggy’s temple, kisses his cheek hard, then steps away.

“It’s going to be okay,” Molly echoes. Foggy pulls away from Matt and bends down to scoop her up and hold her tight. Matt can still hear Jack’s lungs rattling, and he steps forward, finding his shoulders and putting his hands on them. He’s so tense.

“Jack,” Matt murmurs. Jack shakes under his hands, standing still for a long moment before he turns and buries his face in Matt’s chest. Matt wraps his arms around him and holds him tightly.

“I’m going to get you to a safe house,” Natasha says. “Just while we figure out our plan and get our shit together.” Foggy huffs a laugh.

“Ms. Page is downstairs,” the AI says.

“Send her up, we don’t have all day, Foggy might give another chilling speech,” Tony says, and it breaks the tension in the room when Foggy laughs. Molly’s tears are slowing, but her heart is still pounding. Jack’s still crying into Matt’s chest. Matt keeps rubbing his back.

“What’s going on?” Karen asks, the second the elevator opens. There’s another beat of silence. “What?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Foggy says. Karen’s breath hitches.

“Foggy, be honest with me,” Karen tells him. She shifts; Matt hears her hair move as she turns towards him. “Matt. What’s happening?”

“Everybody knows Daddy is Daredevil,” Molly says, “and Daddy is dying.”

“What the  _ fuck,”  _ Karen breathes. “Molly— What do—  _ What?” _

“I am not  _ dying,”  _ Foggy says. “Molly, remind me to enroll you in classes on tact.”

“Okay,” Molly says, and Foggy laughs again.

“What does she mean?” Karen asks. Her voice sounds shaky.

“Uncle Matt’s on the news,” Sarah explains, before anyone else can. “Bullseye told everyone he’s Daredevil, so he wants you to go into hiding. Also, Daddy told me that Uncle Foggy has cancer, so they’re doing some weird treatment for him here.”

“Jesus, Sarah,” Bucky says. “Remind me not to tell you any secrets anymore.”

“I would’ve found out anyways,” Sarah replies, but Matt’s not paying attention to her anymore. He can hear Karen crying, and Foggy going to hug her.

“It’s going to be okay,” Foggy tells her. “You missed it, I just made a big speech about how it’s all going to be okay, but it is. We’re gonna lay low in a safe house for a little while until we figure this all out. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s— That’s fine, Foggy, what’s— You’re sick?” Karen asks. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“All of this has happened in the span of about twenty-four hours,” Foggy tells her. “I haven’t done  _ anything. Matt’s  _ the one who came over here in the first place.”

“Okay,” Karen says. She takes a deep, steadying breath. Matt loves her. “We’re going to figure this out. It’ll be okay.”

Matt’s still trying to think of a plan for them. Something to keep Foggy as safe as he can possibly be. There’s not a lot of options, but an obvious one keeps coming to him. It’s not exactly a good idea, or a sane idea, or anything even along those lines, but Matt turns towards Foggy anyways and says, “We should fake your death.”

“Excuse me?” Foggy asks, before a second even passes. “Matt, I don’t know what kind of comic book— Well,  _ fuck  _ me, Captain America’s right there, this is  _ exactly  _ that kind of comic book. You just want me to  _ fake my death?  _ Matt, we have a law firm. And a family? I don’t— That’s insane.”

“I’ve done it,” Natasha says. “You can always come back after.”

“You’re not gonna make me into a goddamned zombie,” Foggy says. “My mother will  _ kill  _ me.”

Matt’s mind is already racing. “No, this could work. If we fake your death, you can hide with the kids and Karen and I can go after Bullseye and stop him once and for all. It’s foolproof.”

“Obviously not, because you’re a fool,” Foggy tells him. “I’m not faking my death. We’ll say— I don’t know. We’ll say I’m out of town or something. I’m not faking my own death.”

“He said he  _ won’t,”  _ Jack says, firmly. “He shouldn’t have to.”

Matt’s chest aches. Jack is so much the combination of the two of them. All of Matt’s aggressive, violent determination, all of Foggy’s intense compassion and caring.

“Jack’s right,” Molly agrees. “Daddy, what do you want?”

Foggy laughs. “Honey, I want whatever you want, that’s what I’m here for.”

“I want to take a nap,” Molly murmurs, and Foggy laughs. He starts laughing normally, but then he’s lost, laughing so hard he’s crying, gasping for breath. It makes Molly laugh, too, but Matt’s mostly just unsettled by it. He goes over to Foggy and puts his arm around him, turns Foggy’s face into his shoulder and holds him there.

“I’ve got a house for you,” Natasha tells them. Matt can hear her still tapping away on her phone. “We can go right now and figure things out from there.”

“Great, let’s go,” Foggy says, catching his breath. Matt traces his fingers down Foggy’s arm to take his hand, and Natasha takes them away from the Tower.

* * *

The safe house is nice. It’s still in New York, but it’s close-ish to where Matt knows Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters is. They’re somewhere in Westchester County, and Natasha gives Matt directions verbally so he can go to and from the house as himself or as Daredevil. Tony Stark is already using his resources to leave a fake paper trail for Foggy and the kids moving out of state. It all makes sense, if you’re a private investigator looking into him, or some sort of insane bad dude trying to find him.

It’s a little bit of a drive, and Foggy sits in the backseat of Natasha’s car, since Molly and Jack refuse to be away from him for more than two seconds. Karen’s in the car behind them with Steve and Bruce. Matt keeps reaching back and touching Foggy’s leg to remind himself that he’s there and still doing okay. Molly dozes off on the car ride, and Foggy carries her inside once they actually get there.

“Professor Xavier is pretty close,” Natasha tells them. “If you need anything, Foggy, you know how to project. Xavier and Jean will hear you. If you need anything  _ else,  _ here.” She presses a burner phone into Matt’s hand. Matt’s standing completely still in the middle of the living room in the safe house. He hasn’t got his bearings yet; he doesn’t know where anything is. “Matt, are you coming back with us?”

Foggy’s heartbeat speeds up, so Matt says, “No, not today. I’ll come out tomorrow, once everything’s settled.”

“Sounds good,” Bruce says. Matt hears the rattle of a pill bottle that Bruce presses into Foggy’s hand. “You’re going to want to start taking these right away. Part of Pym’s treatment. They’ll help.”

“I’ll call you both tonight, let you know how Tony’s team is doing with your trail,” Steve tells them. A hand lands on Matt’s shoulder. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt answers. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you all so much,” Foggy tells them. “You didn’t have to do any of this for us and we appreciate it.”

“We’re a team,” Natasha tells him.

“We’re a family,” Steve corrects. Natasha huffs a laugh. “We protect our own.” Steve’s hand squeezes Matt, then leaves his shoulder, the three of them say their goodbyes, and Foggy, Karen, and Matt are left with the kids in this safe house in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m going to take Molly to a bed,” Karen says, into the silence. “Foggy, we can talk after, okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy agrees. Matt hears the shuffling as Foggy passes Molly off to her. “Jack, go with your sister, okay?”

“Daddy—”

“I’ll still be here when you get back,” Foggy tells him. “I promise. It’s just a few minutes, I want to talk to your dad, okay?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Jack says, “Okay.” He follows Karen out of the room quietly, and Foggy doesn’t move for a long, long moment. After a moment, his breath hitches, and Matt goes to him, nearly knocking over a lamp in the unfamiliar layout of the room. Foggy reaches out to him, catches Matt’s wrist and drags him in.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Matt says. Foggy nods against Matt’s shoulder, catching his breath.

“It’s been twelve hours,” Foggy says. “In  _ twelve hours,  _ Matt, I’ve been stabbed, I’ve been told I’m dying from cancer I didn’t even know I had, you went to the Avengers for some new medical treatment nobody’s ever done that I’ve already started, you went out again as Daredevil and— I don’t even know what you did, but you’ve been quiet ever since, and now you’ve been outed as Daredevil and we’re in the middle of the woods, hiding our children from being killed by some comic book villain who sold your name to the media.” Foggy takes a breath.  _ “Jesus,  _ Matt. I know I’m supposed to be— But I don’t even know where to  _ begin.” _

Foggy’s the strong one. Foggy’s held it together through everything. People say that Matt is the man without fear, but, in the face of everything Foggy’s done in their lives, Matt would say it’s him. It’s easy to go out and beat the shit out of people. It’s the easiest thing Matt does. Foggy’s daily life is a thousand times harder. The last day of Foggy’s life has been the hardest thing Matt’s ever seen someone go through, and he’s still standing here, trying to figure things out. Matt’s just glad Foggy trusts him enough to express himself in front of him.

“I’m so proud of you,” Matt tells him. Foggy nods; Matt can feel his hair shifting, his shoulders moving as he shrugs off some of the muscle tension. “Where’s— Is there a sofa in here?”

“Yeah, come over here,” Foggy says, taking Matt’s hand and guiding him to sit on a sofa in the middle of the room. “We can go over the layout later, so you can get used to it. Hopefully we don’t have to get too used to it.”

“Once we stop Bullseye, you’ll be safe,” Matt tells him. “You’ll do your treatments here until we can go home. You’re going to be okay, I’ll take care of everything.”

“Matt—”

“Foggy,” Matt says, and Foggy goes quiet. “Let me do this. I can do this.”

Foggy leans into Matt’s side. He’s silent. Matt waits for him to do something, say something, but Foggy still doesn’t. His heart is slowing down to a normal pace. No longer speeding, no longer erratic. This close, Matt can smell the sickness in him. He wonders how he didn’t realize it sooner. It’s Matt’s  _ job  _ to protect Foggy and their family. That’s  _ it.  _ That’s  _ all  _ he has to do.

“I’m going to stop him,” Matt says. “I’ll have help. And when it’s all done, we’ll go back home, and everything’s going to be okay.” Matt reaches up, cups Foggy’s face in his hand. “Foggy, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Foggy asks. Matt laughs humorlessly.

“For— Foggy, for  _ everything,”  _ Matt says. “For ruining your life, for putting you in danger, putting the kids in danger—”

“Why do you always say that like I have no choice in this?” Foggy interrupts him. “You say that like you’ve dragged me kicking and screaming into this. We’re lawyers in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt. We’d be targets regardless. And for all you apparently  _ put me in danger,  _ you also help me out of it, constantly. And, Jesus, the kids— I wouldn’t have them without you. I wouldn’t trade anything for them.” Foggy takes a second, breathes, then says, “Matt, you  _ are  _ my life. You didn’t ruin anything. We’re going to fix this.”

Matt buries his face in Foggy’s throat and inhales. He steadies himself. Foggy is his grounding point, his anchor. This is his life.

Matt’s burner phone dings. Foggy reaches for it, pulls it out of Matt’s pocket and swipes it open. He laughs.

“What is it?” Matt asks. Foggy’s scrolling on the phone; Matt can hear the  _ swip, swip, swip  _ as he goes through pictures.

“Hell’s Kitchen,” Foggy says. “There’s posters, banners. Rallies, it looks like. Everyone’s turning out for you.”

“What?” Matt asks. “That— What?”

“For Matt Murdock,” Foggy tells him. “For Daredevil. All the pictures are from Natasha. She says every street corner has a poster plastered on it. Your face is everywhere. Everyone’s supporting you, Matt, they’re on your side.”

Something settles in Matt’s chest, knowing his city loves him as much as he loves it. Knowing they have his back when he does this. The city wraps around Matt like a warm blanket, like a steel barrier. Matt’s safe here. He pulls his strength from the city. He’ll defend them until his dying breath.

“I’ll go back in the morning,” Matt says. “We’ll make our plans, we’ll stop Bullseye. Then, I’ll bring you home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Foggy tells him. He puts the phone down and lets Matt pull him in, lets Matt kiss him long and hard until his hands stop shaking so much.

* * *

It’s not hard for Dex to break into the prison. He’s the most skilled sharpshooter in the world, and he’s a master of espionage. Nobody even knows he’s there. By the time he makes it to the hallway Fisk is in, there’s not even an alarm going off. He unlocks the door to the solitary holding cell at the end of the hall with a key he stole off a dead guard’s uniform belt.

“Pleasure to see you again,” Dex says. Wilson Fisk is sitting in a corner, manacled to the floor. He stares up at Dex. He somehow has the aura of being as in control as he was on the outside.

“Bullseye,” Fisk says, as a greeting. “I’ve heard about you on the news. You’ve made quite a name for yourself these past few years.”

“I’d say so,” Dex agrees. He shuts the cell door behind himself and leans against the wall, arms folded, looking down at Fisk. “And you haven’t exactly lost your reputation or your standing.”

“No, I haven’t,” Fisk says. “You don’t get to be the kingpin in this city without being able to take a few hits.”

“You’ve taken more than a few,” Dex says.

“And yet,” Fisk replies, and doesn’t continue. Dex nods, looking down at his arms, grinning. “Why have you come?”

“I heard you’re looking for a new chief assassin,” Dex says. No point in wasting time. They’ll figure out he’s in here soon, and someone will raise an alarm. He’d rather not be here when that goes down. “I’m interested in the position.”

“Are you?” Fisk says. Dex nods. “Why?”

“Why not?” Dex asks. It’s apparently enough for Fisk, who inclines his head, still staring directly at him. “Plus, I have information you might find interesting.”

“What’s that?” Fisk asks. Dex grins at him.

“Daredevil is Matt Murdock,” Dex says, “and I think I know where he is.”

Fisk does stand now. His hands are held close to the floor, so he can’t reach his full height, but he goes as far as he can. The one light in the room casts his shadow over Dex.

“You will be careful,” Fisk says. “You will not let anyone know who you are. You will not let anyone know what you are doing. You will not let anyone know you are working for me. Do you understand me?”

“Yup.”

_ “Especially  _ not Matthew Murdock,” Fisk continues. “He cannot know. But if you kill him, you have a place with me.”

Dex nods. His grin widens. “Got it.” He offers Fisk a salute, shoves the door back open, and leaves without a goodbye, striding down the hallway with his mind already halfway across the city in Hell’s Kitchen.


	4. i'm the hero of this story, i don't need to be saved

They’re in the fourth week of being in the safe house. Matt’s starting to get stress headaches just thinking about how helpless he feels in all of this. He can’t find Bullseye anywhere. The Avengers can’t find him, the X-Men can’t find him, the other Defenders can’t find him; it’s like he’s dropped completely off the map. Matt spends all day at Avengers Tower, or the X-Mansion, trying to help in any way he possibly can. He spends all night as Daredevil, skulking around New York, seeking out any hint of Bullseye.

He’s at the safe house for breakfast and dinner. He sleeps from the time he gets to the house in the early hours of dawn until Foggy wakes him up for breakfast. He sits with the kids and talks to them about anything they want to talk about. Jack is quiet a lot; Molly talks more than usual to compensate. At dinner, he listens to what they did during the day with Foggy’s improvised homeschooling. He reads with them after dinner. Molly clings to him every second he’s there. Jack has been giving him the cold shoulder for a little while, hanging off of Foggy instead. Matt and Foggy tuck them into their beds in the room they’re sharing together before Matt sits with Foggy until it’s time for him to leave.

Foggy’s been doing his treatments every night, after the kids go to sleep, because they’re unwilling to leave the kids and Karen alone in the safe house. Bruce Banner shows up on nights of the chemotherapy cycles to give him his drug treatments through an IV. Foggy keeps taking Pym’s pills, and, twice, Pym shows up, shrinks down, goes into Foggy’s bloodstream, and tries to eliminate cancerous cells from the inside. Foggy passes out both times, but it’s for the best; Matt can’t even imagine being awake while that happens.

Tonight, one month to the day since they arrived to the safe house, Foggy’s on his third day in another round of treatments. Bruce is sitting next to him, lightly dozing. Matt can tell Foggy’s uncomfortable; he’s got a venous access device in his chest, and Matt knows he keeps looking at it, every time his heart skips. He’s sick, and exhausted, and Matt  _ hates  _ that he can’t do anything to help him. Foggy lost a lot of weight, along with most of his hair. He had Matt shave the rest of it off for him. Molly strokes the top of his head a lot, but she’s already asleep. Matt’s just holding his hand.

“Hey,” Foggy says, after a while. “Bruce fell asleep.”

“Yeah?” Matt asks. He reaches up, feels his way to Foggy’s face, and cups his cheek. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Foggy tells him. He’s lying.

“Foggy.”

“I know,” Foggy says. They had a whole conversation about honesty and the pain scale and _ how important it is to tell the truth  _ if he’s feeling poorly. “It’s not terrible. I’m at about a four, comparatively.”

“Okay.” Matt strokes Foggy’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m sorry.”

“You gotta stop apologizing, Matty, you’re driving me up a wall,” Foggy says, and he sounds like he’s smiling. His head thumps against the back of his armchair.

“Sorry,” Matt says again, and Foggy groans loudly, dramatically. Matt smiles a little bit. “I just feel bad you have to go through this.”

“Eh, we all got our stuff,” Foggy jokes. Matt stands, leans in, kisses Foggy’s forehead. Foggy sighs. “What’s  _ most  _ unfair is that I look like shit and you look hot as ever.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to me,” Matt reminds him, “but I’m sure it’s not true.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know,” Foggy says. “Oh, hey, Karen.”

It says something about how focused Matt is on listening to Foggy’s heart, his breathing, the tiniest movements of his body, that he doesn’t even notice Karen come in. She sits down on the sofa next to where Matt was just sitting with a yawn.

“You look exhausted,” Foggy says. Karen laughs.

“You’re one to talk,” Karen comments. “No, it’s the baby. He’s all over the place.”

“Only a few weeks left,” Foggy reminds her. Karen sighs, but it sounds like she’s smiling. Matt sits down next to her and lets his arm rest along the back of the sofa; she takes the invitation and leans into his side, her head on his chest. “Aw. In another life, maybe.”

“Shut up, Foggy,” they say at the same time. Karen laughs tiredly; Matt just smiles. Bruce startles awake; Matt listens to his heart rate to make sure it stays calm. Foggy trusts him implicitly, but Matt’s on edge all the time anyways, so keeping track of whether or not Bruce is going to Hulk out on him is just one more thing.

“How’re you feeling?” Bruce asks, rubbing at his face. It sounds like he’s got stubble right now, and it reminds Matt he hasn’t shaved in a little bit, either. He rubs at his own jaw.

“Oh, you know, I’m ready to run a marathon,” Foggy says. Bruce laughs quietly.

“Well, you’re almost done for the night,” Bruce tells him. Matt tips his head in Bruce’s direction. “I’m all set, Matt, don’t worry.”

“No, it’s— your watch is slow,” Matt says, feeling slightly sheepish at being caught listening in. “By a couple of minutes.”

“Jesus Christ,” Foggy huffs, grinning. “Down, Lassie.”

“I’m just saying,” Matt defends. He’s just happy to hear the smile in Foggy’s voice. He tips his head towards Karen, listens to the baby’s heartbeat. It’s still strong and steady, one of Matt’s newest favorite sounds. He’s been committing it to memory whenever he’s with Karen.

“It’s fine,” Bruce says. It sounds like he’s smiling, too. Matt’s less familiar with him, but they’ve been getting closer in the month they’ve had to spend together. “Foggy, you’re done. How’s it feel? On the scale.”

“Three.”

_ “Foggy.” _

“Four,” Foggy says. Matt sighs. “It’s really not that bad, I feel fine. Well, as fine as I’m gonna feel.”

“You’re responding pretty well, to be honest with you,” Bruce says. He’s starting to detach the IV from the device in Foggy’s chest. Foggy’s heartbeat speeds up; Matt can practically hear him squeezing his eyes shut. He reaches out and finds Foggy’s hand, holding it tightly until Bruce is done. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re getting close to maybe a minor surgery being an option.”

“Fabulous,” Foggy breathes. Matt hears the hiss of the blood pressure cuff, feels the pulse pounding in Foggy’s arm as the band tightens. Bruce is checking his blood pressure, his pulse, his breathing, his temperature. Matt’s getting more used to the insanely advanced medical technology and equipment, but it’s still way beyond their understanding.

Bruce jots down Foggy’s numbers in his little journal — some things never change — and stands, stretching and popping his joints. “I’ll be back tomorrow night. You coming with me, Matt?”

“Give me a second,” Matt says. He feels unsettled, all of a sudden. He doesn’t want to leave Foggy and Karen and the kids alone. He listens for Jack’s and Molly’s heartbeats in the other room, and he can hear them, beating slow and steady with sleep. There’s nobody nearby. Matt shakes off the paranoia and moves away from Karen, goes to sit isntead on the arm of Foggy’s chair. He cups Foggy’s face in his hand, then reels him in to kiss him on the forehead. Foggy sighs.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” Matt asks. Foggy nods under his touch. “Are you  _ sure?” _

“It’s fine, Matt,” Foggy says. His heartbeat trips.  _ Lie. _

“Foggy.”

“What do you want me to say, Matt?” Foggy asks, sounding exhausted. “If you don’t go out, you just lay awake all night doing that not-staring staring thing at me anyways. If you do, you show up beat to hell and feeling worse than you did the night before. There’s no winning.”

Matt pulls Foggy in, and Foggy just presses his face into Matt’s chest. He sags there, obviously exhausted. He’s been fatigued since this whole thing started; it’s one of the side-effects of the drugs he’s on. He strokes the back of his head, and Foggy exhales shakily.

“I’m sorry,” Matt murmurs to him. He hears Bruce stand and offer Karen a hand. He helps her stand and the two of them quietly leave the room. They just stand in the kitchen and start whispering to each other, and Matt tunes them out in favor of listening to Foggy again.

“It’s okay,” Foggy tells him. “I know we have to do it. I’m just so exhausted. With everything. It’s a lot, all of it, and I just— I want things to go back to normal, and I can’t do anything to make that happen. It frustrates me. I’m tired. I’m sick all the time. I’m just—  _ I’m  _ sorry. I don’t know.”

“Don’t,” Matt tells him. Foggy nods. Matt turns his face into Foggy’s skin, sighs. “I’m going to make everything okay. I’ll be back in the morning.”

“I know.” Foggy sounds just so, so tired. Matt wants to make everything better for him. He reaches down and takes Foggy’s chin in his hand, tilts his face up, kisses him slowly. Foggy sighs against his lips. “Go. Bruce is probably ready to leave.”

“I love you,” Matt tells him. Foggy nods. “I love you so much, Foggy. I’m going to fix this.”

“I love you, too,” Foggy says. Matt kisses him one last time, then leaves the room. As soon as he knows he’s in the kitchen and out of Foggy’s line of sight, he makes his way to the sink and neatly vomits down the drain. The smell of Foggy’s sickness and the chemicals in his system smell like poison to Matt.

Karen’s cool, small hands are on Matt’s forehead, pushing his hair back from his face when he lifts his head. Bruce hands him a paper towel.

“Sorry,” Matt says. This happens every day. Karen rubs his back.

“We can always do his treatments at the tower,” Bruce suggests. He does that every day, too. Matt shakes his head, because he  _ also  _ refuses every day. Foggy doesn’t want to be apart from Jack, Molly, and Karen for very long. He doesn’t really say anything about it, but Matt knows he’s scared of dying. He’s trying to wring every second with them that he can out of each day. “Alright. Well, we should probably head out, then, if you’re going to do that backflipping shit you do.”

Karen laughs. “Jesus, Bruce.”

“It’s true,” Bruce says, grinning. Matt half-smiles, leaning back against the counter. He rubs at the back of his neck. “You should maybe take a break, Matt.”

“Not until we get to Bullseye,” Matt tells him. Bruce shifts in a shrug. “Let’s go.”

Karen kisses Matt’s cheek. “Be safe out there.”

“I always am,” Matt says. Karen leans into him, just for a second, hugs him, then pulls away. Matt keeps his suit in a duffel bag in their bedroom; it’s all he grabs before he’s heading out with Bruce in his car.

* * *

Dex knows Matt Murdock is attached to Foggy Murdock. He’d have to be, because they’re married. He also remembers Karen Page, from Fisk’s rants about those two, and he knows the three of them are close. They worked in the same firm, before Page left for investigative journalism. It can’t be a coincidence that they all decided to move out of state at the same time that Dex leaked Daredevil’s identity to the press.

Dex spends some time travelling to the location in Oregon that they supposedly moved to, but he can’t find any trace of them, no matter how long he stakes out the street they apparently moved to. He comes back to New York and starts searching for them. He has to simultaneously avoid what appears to be every single superhero, vigilante, and cop in New York state, all out looking for him, but it’s worth it.

If he kills Karen Page and Foggy Murdock, he can kill Matt Murdock. It seems easy, in all honesty. All he has to do is find them.

And Daredevil has been following a pretty consistent pattern.

Bullseye’s been figuring out the path piece by piece, night by night, and any time Daredevil gets too close to catching him, he backs off for a little while. It takes him a good amount of time to piece together the whole thing, but he pulls it off. He can trace Daredevil’s entire path through Hell’s Kitchen, from his law firm’s old building to the middle of the woods in Westchester County. He makes the route a few times at night, a few times during the day, while he knows Daredevil’s not there. He perfects his time, his techniques, his plan.

Then, when he knows Daredevil’s starting his patrol in Hell’s Kitchen, Dex makes his move towards Westchester County. It’s late. When he scopes out the house, everybody is asleep.  _ Everybody  _ includes Foggy Murdock, Karen Page, and two children. One of those sleeping children looks like Daredevil; the other one looks like Foggy Murdock. Dex smiles; he  _ knows _ Daredevil is going to come as soon as he figures out Dex is there.

Dex eases open the window over the kitchen sink. He climbs through easily, onto the countertop, and slinks to the floor. He keeps to the shadows, out of the moonlight. He makes his way towards what he knows is a living room, and he knows that the bedrooms lay right beyond.

The second he walks into the living room, a baseball bat cracks him in the back of the head, and he hits the ground.

“Who the fuck—” a familiar voice says. “Oh, Jesus. Of course.”

It’s Foggy. Dex drags himself up and ducks around another swing from the bat. Foggy looks like shit; he’s all gaunt and exhausted-looking and—

“Wow,” Dex says. “You’re dying, aren’t you?”

“How the fuck did you find this place?” Foggy demands, ignoring his question entirely. Rude. “Get the fuck out.”

“Foggy Murdock,” Dex comments. “You look like shit. I came here to kill you but, to be honest, doesn’t seem like much of a challenge.”

Foggy backs up, away from Dex’s reach, but Dex doesn’t need to be able to reach him. He looks around the room, takes stock of the place. There’s a briefcase near the coffee table, and Dex tucks and rolls for that, hiding behind the couch as he grabs the briefcase.

“Jesus, you ninja types are so fucking annoying,” Foggy comments. Dex snaps open the briefcase and finds Daredevil’s billy clubs inside. He grins, then whips one of them at the wall, sending it ricocheting back into Foggy’s chest. He hears Foggy trip backwards and slam into the wall, and he stands, holding the billy clubs in his hands.

* * *

Matt’s heading back towards the safe house on a motorcycle he’s been borrowing from Tony. He always knows how far away he is from the house based on clear Foggy’s heartbeat is. He hits the perimeter where he can start hearing Foggy’s heartbeat and it’s—

Matt speeds up. He wonders what it looks like, a blind man riding a motorcycle, to anyone who doesn’t know who he is. If anyone is even  _ left  _ who doesn’t know who he is, at this point. It doesn’t matter, to him, anymore. Especially not right  _ now,  _ because Foggy’s heartbeat is erratic and weak, thinner than it was the night before, and Matt can’t move fast enough. By the time he’s tearing up the gravel in the driveway, Foggy’s heart is pounding. Matt throws the motorcycle across the grass and sprints into the house, ripping off his helmet and chucking it behind him.

“Matt, it’s Bullseye—” Foggy’s saying, and Matt ducks just in time to avoid getting hit with— one of his own billy clubs, he realizes, when he grabs it off the floor. Foggy’s heartbeat is in the room with him, Matt can sense him nearby. Karen is in the basement with Jack and Molly; their heartbeats sound normal, as strong as ever. Karen’s is a little fast, but she’s okay. They’re unhurt.

Matt can smell blood in the room. He’s not sure who it belongs to. He hears Bullseye move, and he shifts, ready to duck or attack. Bullseye doesn’t come for him, though. He goes after Foggy, and Matt hears the disgusting  _ thud  _ of his billy club against Foggy’s chest, hears the snap of a rib, and his brain whites out with rage.

When Matt focuses again, out of the static inside of his own head, he’s holding Bullseye’s arms behind his back. Both of his shoulders are dislocated, and he’s groaning, trying to wriggle out of Matt’s grip. Matt won’t let go. Bullseye has a sai strapped to him, and Matt lets go of one of his arms, transfers his grip on his wrists to one hand so he can rip the sai free. He puts the tip of it over Bullseye’s back, right above his heart.

“This is what happens when you touch Daredevil’s family?” Bullseye asks. “He gives up on his code? He gives up on everything for  _ this?” _

“Yes,” Matt hisses, tugging his wrists further back. He hears his muscles and bones shift and grind, and Bullseye gasps.

“Daddy?” Molly’s voice asks. Matt freezes, knuckles tightening. Karen’s sprinting footsteps hit the room, then Jack’s.

“Molly, you come with me  _ right now—”  _ Karen’s insisting, her heart pounding, but Jack cuts her off.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Jack asks. Foggy’s shifting, dragging himself over to where Jack and Molly are.

“Get out, go,” Foggy orders them, desperate.

“Are you going to kill him?” Jack asks. He sounds terrified and confused and Matt wants to go to him, but he can’t let go. Bullseye was going to kill Foggy, and Karen, and Jack, and Molly, and his baby,  _ Christ,  _ he can’t even  _ fathom  _ the depths of his own fear and rage, this is unlike anything he has ever felt in his  _ life.  _ His hands feel numb. He  _ wants  _ to kill Bullseye, more than he wants anything else.

“Dad?” Jack says, softly. Matt can’t. He wants it, and he  _ can’t do it,  _ not in front of them. He  _ can’t. _

“Jack, go to the cabinet in the bathroom, get the zip-ties in the bag in there,” Matt says. Jack’s footsteps speed out of the room. “Karen, can you call Steve?”

“I can call,” Molly tells him. “Where’s the phone?”

“What’s wrong with Aunt Karen?” Matt asks. Bullseye shifts under him, and Matt pushes the tip of his sai deeper into his skin, drawing blood.

“I’m fine, Matt, don’t worry,” Karen tells him. Her breathing is strained, her heart pounding. “Molly, here’s my phone, okay? Call Uncle Steve, here—”

Molly’s tapping away on the phone, and then Steve’s picking up, saying, “Karen? It’s late, are you okay?”

“Hi,” Molly says. There’s a pause.

“Molly?” Steve sounds already wide awake. “What’s going on, you okay?”

“There’s a guy in my house,” Molly tells him. Matt can hear Steve hurriedly dressing himself and waking up Bucky. “Daddy’s holding a fork to his back and my other Daddy is bleeding a lot and Aunt Karen’s having a baby.”

_ “What?”  _ Matt asks, all the breath punching out of him. Jack sprints back into the room and Matt refocuses his attention on him instead, his mind racing, pulse pounding. Jack taps him on the wrist with a zip-tie, and Matt drops the sai to take it, tying Bullseye’s wrists together. Jack’s holding the bag of ties, so Matt zip-ties Bullseye’s arms together from wrists to his dislocated shoulders, twenty-five zip-ties up the line of his arm. He does the same with his legs, then knocks Bullseye to the ground, laying on his back.

“Did he hurt Daddy?” Jack asks, quietly. Matt nods, pinning Bullseye to the ground. He pulls his fist back, focuses himself, centers in on the exact right location, and punches Bullseye directly in the center of his forehead, knocking him unconscious.

“I want to hurt him,” Jack tells Matt. It’s quiet, like a secret. Matt stands up and turns Jack away, pulls his face into his chest to know that he’s not looking. Matt tips his face up and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“We can’t,” Matt tells him. Not  _ we don’t do that.  _ Not  _ no, you don’t.  _ He tells him,  _ we can’t.  _ “We can’t hurt people. We have to hold that back.”

“Okay,” Jack breathes. Matt strokes his hair back from his face. Matt hears a strange sound outside, but then the door’s being broken in, and he listens to an unfamiliar heartbeat enter the room.

“Daredevil, my name is Professor Charles Xavier,” an accented voice says. “Captain America sent me to help.”

“Professor X!” Molly exclaims. Charles laughs. “Aunt Karen’s having a baby.”

“She certainly is,” Charles tells him. “Is this your father?”

“I think he’s hurt,” Molly says. Matt turns Jack away from Bullseye’s unconscious body and brings him towards where he hears Foggy’s sluggish heartbeat. He crouches down, finds Foggy’s pulse in his throat, feels it for a second before rolling him onto his back and pulling his head into his lap.

“He’s going to be okay,” Charles says. “Karen, darling, you’re doing very well.”

“Thanks,” Karen huffs. “You a doctor?”

“I’ve seen quite a bit, in my time,” Charles tells her. Matt keeps feeling along Foggy’s head, up his jaw, to his skull. He can feel the splits in his skin, the swells, the bruises. He can smell blood. It  _ rips  _ at him.

“Karen, are you okay?” Matt asks. “What can I do?”

“Take care of Foggy, I’m good,” Karen tells him. “Really, seriously, I’m okay.”

Matt nods, holding Foggy close, breathing. He hears Steve Rogers come barrelling through the door, and he lifts Foggy up, dragging himself to his feet.

“That’s Bullseye,” Matt says, jerking his chin in the direction of Dex’s unconscious body. It’s such a sweet relief to say, “Take him into custody. I never want him to see the outside of a jail cell.”

“Roger that,” Steve says, and Matt hears the drag of Bullseye’s body as he’s forced, dizzy, to his feet. Bucky Barnes’ heartbeat comes in, too, with his specific gait, the movement of his feet. He lifts Karen off of the ground.

“Come with me,” Matt says to Jack and Molly. They follow him out of the safe house and to the car waiting for them outside.

* * *

Foggy wakes up and tries to stretch, but it’s hard. His covers are too tight, which probably means Matt stole the comforter and Foggy got tangled in the sheet underneath. He tugs at the blanket, trying to turn, but a hand on his arm stops him.

“Mm?” Foggy mumbles, turning over and reaching for what he assumes is Matt’s hand. “What’s up? You cold?”

“What? Foggy,” Matt says. Foggy furrows his brow. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” Foggy murmurs. His chest aches, and his legs feel sore. He frowns. He’s got a weird headache. “How’re you?”

“Foggy, I’m fine.” Matt’s hand strokes his face, and Foggy sighs, blinking his eyes open to look at him. He frowns, disoriented; Matt’s standing over him, fully dressed, and the room around them is entirely glass. He can barely see the rooms beyond this one, but he’s clearly lying down and completely baffled as to where he is and why.

“What the fuck?” Foggy asks, trying to sit up. Matt keeps him in place. “What’re you—”

“You lost a lot of blood,” Matt says, sounding choked. “You’re still healing.”

“Why’d I…” Foggy trails off, thinking. He remembers, all in a rush, Bullseye breaking into their home, and Karen taking the kids to hide in the basement, and trying to knock Bullseye out himself, and Bullseye getting the upper hand, and… someone coming in. Matt. Matt? And someone else. And then, nothing.

“They sedated you,” Matt tells him. “You’re going to be okay. Everything’s okay, don’t panic— Your heart is speeding up, it’s really okay. I promise. Dex is in prison. They stitched you up, and you’re going to be just fine.”

“Better than fine,” Bruce’s voice says, and Foggy lifts his head to look in the direction of the doorway. “Foggy, you’re responding really well to Pym’s treatment. You’re on your way towards being ready for surgery. You’re getting better.”

Foggy exhales, putting his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“You’re doing great,” Bruce says. “I actually didn’t come here to tell you that, though, though that’s important. I’m going to just— I’ll take your vitals real quick, then I’ve got someone here to see you.”

“Cool,” Foggy agrees, exhausted. Bruce checks his head wounds, his stitches, his bruises. Takes his temperature, his blood pressure, his pulse, his pupils. Foggy just lets him do it, answers honestly when asked questions, then says, “Who’s here?”

“Jack,” Matt calls. Foggy looks up and sees Jack in the doorway, holding Molly’s hand. His face is red, and Foggy reaches out to him. Jack lets go of Molly to run over to him, tears running down his face as he hurls himself up into the bed and curls up against Foggy’s chest. Matt helps Molly climb in next to him, and Foggy puts his arm around her, holding them both close.

“Are you okay?” Foggy asks, trying to look them both over when they’re unwilling to detach themselves from his sides. “Did you get hurt?”

“No,” Molly tells him.

“We’re both okay,” Jack says. “I’m sorry you’re hurt. I should’ve done a better job—”

“Nope, nuh-uh,” Foggy interrupts him. “You’re doing a great impression of your dad, but, no. It’s not your responsibility to protect me, it’s  _ mine  _ to protect  _ you,  _ and I did that, so I’m happy. Okay?”

Jack nods, smiling a little bit before he buries his face in Foggy’s chest. Matt’s smiling at the both of them, but then he turns his head, listening towards the door. Foggy loves him so,  _ so  _ much.

Karen’s in the doorway. Matt goes to her, abandoning his cane and the pretenses with it to help her and whatever she’s got. Foggy tries to—

“No shit,” Foggy breathes. “Get him over here, come on, Murdock, why’re you taking so long—” Matt finally gets back to him and helps Foggy sit up so he can take their baby, and Foggy huffs a laugh, already tearing up.

“I thought it was a boy,” Foggy asks, half-question. Matt shrugs.

“Guess they were wrong,” Matt tells him. “Close enough?”

“I mean, fifty-fifty shot,” Foggy comments. “Murdocks only make red-heads regardless,” he continues, and Karen laughs.

“Apparently,” she says. She sits in the chair at Foggy’s bedside and stretches back, yawning. “She’s cute, though. Looks like Jack.”

“Does she?” Jack asks, sitting up to peer into the baby’s face. Foggy shoos him away.

“Let me look at my new favorite,” Foggy says.

“Hey!” Molly exclaims. “I’m the favorite.”

“Bullshit,” Jack says.

“Jesus Christ, Jack, what did I tell you about your language?” Foggy tells him, and Matt’s laughing so hard his face is turning red. “You’re no help, Murdock.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just— I’m so happy,” Matt says. “Just— This is good. I’m so sorry—”

“Matt, I swear to God, if you start beating yourself up, apologizing, or in  _ any way  _ taking the blame for last night, I am going to  _ throw  _ this baby at you,” Foggy threatens. Matt starts laughing all over again. Foggy knows they’re going to have a conversation about all of this (possibly a Conversation, if Matt’s emotions are already this strong), but, right now, he’s content just like this.

“What’s her name?” Jack asks.

“Jack,” Molly suggests. Foggy looks at her like she grew a second head. “What?”

“Remind me to get you a tutor,” Foggy says. Molly laughs. “No, Daddy and I already picked out a name.”

“Shannon Paula,” Matt tells them. Molly sits up and peers into Shannon’s face.

“Hi, Anna,” she says. Foggy looks up at Matt’s frown.

“I mean, close enough?” Foggy says, echoing Matt’s earlier sentiment. Matt’s frown becomes a grin, and he laughs. “That is my mother’s name.”

“Close enough,” Matt says. “Anna sounds nice. Anna Murdock?”

“She’s pretty,” Jack says. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt her.”

“Good kid,” Foggy tells him. Jack drops his head on Foggy’s chest and traces Anna’s nose with his fingertip. Molly sighs, reaching out to take her hand. Foggy leans his head back and looks up at Matt. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I was talking to Karen.”

“She’s asleep,” Matt points out. Foggy turns to look at her, and, sure enough, she’s asleep. Foggy huffs a laugh.

“I love you,” is all Foggy says, but it’s enough. Matt comes over, sits next to him, kisses the crown of his head.

“More,” Matt counters.

“Most,” Foggy replies. Matt grins against the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We still have an epilogue coming our way! Stay tuned!


	5. today it's my city, tomorrow who knows

_ epilogue _

 

Foggy leans back in his armchair, Anna asleep on his chest. He strokes her hair back from her face, just watching her sleep. There’s plenty of noise around them, but none of that seems to be affecting her, thank God. She’s a sound sleeper, unlike Jack before her. Foggy puts one hand over her back, feels it move as she breathes, the thumps of her heart beating.

“Still sleeping?” Matt asks, dumping a box next to Foggy’s chair. They’ve finally got a new place, bigger than their apartment used to be. Still in Hell’s Kitchen, because Matt is physically incapable of leaving the city, but, still. This place has  _ two floors.  _ Foggy feels like a billionaire.

“Yeah, she’s out,” Foggy tells him. He catches Matt’s hand, squeezes it. Matt squeezes back. The case against Dex has just ended; Matt and Foggy had to testify, but they weren’t allowed to represent on the case. Biased, which,  _ yeah—  _ Matt’s the one who got the guy arrested. Foggy’s the one he assaulted. Daredevil, though — he helps out a little bit. Which, everybody  _ technically  _ knows that Daredevil is Matt, but when a masked vigilante sneaks into the law offices of the lawyers  _ actually  _ trying the case and conveniently provides them with a shitload of evidence towards other crimes committed by Bullseye, nobody’s going to turn him down.

Dex is in jail. Wilson Fisk has had time added on to his sentence. Hell’s Kitchen has calmed down a tiny bit. Things are  _ better. _

“How are you feeling?” Matt asks. His hand leaves Foggy’s, traces its way up to his throat to feel his pulse, as if he can’t already hear his heartbeat filling the room. He slides his palm up to his cheek, then presses the back of his hand to Foggy’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Foggy says. He’d gotten surgery on his hip, and he’s still doing his treatments, but Bruce and Pym are more optimistic by the day. Foggy would say this has gone as well as it possibly could have, considering the circumstances.

“Promise?” Matt asks, and Foggy’s saved from answering by Molly sprinting into the room and flinging herself at Matt’s legs. She buries her face in his thigh. “Hey, Mol, what’s up?”

“I forgot which room was mine,” Molly tells him tearfully. Matt tips his face up to hide his smile from her. Foggy reaches out and takes Molly’s arm, turns her towards him. She half-climbs over the arm of the chair to curl into his side.

“We’ll go through it all again later,” Foggy says. “How’s that? Sound good?”

Molly nods, already distracted by reaching out to stroke Anna’s head. Anna keeps sleeping, God bless her, and Molly just settles her head on Foggy’s shoulder and keeps running her fingers through her sister’s hair.

“Where’s Molly?” Jack calls from outside. “I need help with this box!”

“I’ll go,” Matt says, before Molly can get up. He leaves them behind, and Foggy just watches his daughters as Molly starts fighting off falling asleep. Matt’s back in almost no time, with Jack on his shoulders and a box under his arm.

“Daddy said he’s stronger than Captain America again, but I know he’s lying,” Jack announces proudly. Matt looks playfully surprised; Foggy just laughs.

“What do you mean, I’m lying? I’m not lying,” Matt says. He sets the box down and reaches up, taking Jack off his shoulders and setting him on Foggy’s other side. Foggy’s sufficiently weighed down under their three children.

“Daddy  _ told me,”  _ Jack tells him. “I could kick Captain America’s ass anyways.”

_ “Jack,”  _ Foggy says, as Matt tries to pretend he’s not laughing. “I can unpack the swear jar! Matt, where’s the— Can you smell that sort of thing?”

_ “No,”  _ Matt tells him, like a  _ liar. _

“You could  _ not  _ kick his ass,” Molly argues.

“Unbelievable,” Foggy says, incredulous. “I’m raising a bunch of heathens. You’re gonna be snapping toothpicks between your teeth and getting in drag races before I know it.”

“I like that show,” Molly defends.

“It’s a  _ car race,”  _ Foggy explains.

“Wearing dresses in a car race?” Jack asked, baffled. Foggy just puts his hands over their heads and pulls them in to his chest.

“We have to start over,” Foggy tells Matt. “These ones are no good.”

Jack swats at him, laughing. Molly just settles in under his hand, yawning.

“You’re the one who keeps wanting more,” Matt says, as if he’s not always the one  _ actively pursuing  _ another child at all times. Two  _ days  _ after Anna was born, Matt was dropping hints about her not being the last. Foggy’s had it with him. He also loves him to death and would do absolutely anything he wanted, but that’s beside the point.

“You  _ have  _ to keep us!” Jack tells them. “It’s the law. You’re lawyers, you know.”

“Oh, did you hear that, Matt?” Foggy asks. “We’re  _ lawyers.  _ So we  _ must know everything—” _

“I didn’t say that!”

“—because we’re  _ geniuses,”  _ Foggy finishes, as if Jack hadn’t even interrupted. “I guess from here on out, everybody should always listen to us.”

“That’s  _ not what I said,”  _ Jack says, emphatically. He’s still grinning, though, so Foggy just tugs him in and kisses the top of his head. Jack wriggles, shoving him away, but he keeps laughing. Foggy holds him in place, and Jack settles back down.

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’ll just finish moving in everything by myself,” Matt comments.

“Jessica and Luke already did all the heavy lifting,” Foggy reminds him. “You’re bringing in books.”

“Why else did we have children if not to make them do dirty work?” Matt says. Jack flings the pillow underneath him at Matt; Matt dodges it easily, which always makes Jack laugh.

Jack has hardly let any of them out of his sight since everything went down with Bullseye. He follows Foggy and Matt around the house. He sticks to Molly’s side at school until they’re forcibly separated. He watches Anna sleep in her crib at night before Foggy makes him go to sleep in his own bed. He’s also been begging Matt to teach him to fight, which has evolved into Jack  _ and  _ Molly asking Matt every day if he’ll teach them. It’s an argument Matt and Foggy have, periodically. They don’t know what the best decision is.

For now, though, they’re all in one spot. Matt finishes bringing in the last of the boxes from the truck, then sits on the floor, leaning up against Foggy’s legs. Anna and Molly are both asleep, now. Foggy’s rubbing Molly’s head, and she keeps sighing softly. Jack is still awake, though, so Matt pulls a book out of a box at random and just starts reading a short story out of it. Jack tips his head up to look at Foggy.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asks, softly. Matt’s reading falters, then softens; he’s trying to listen to Jack while not  _ seeming  _ like he’s listening. Jack has a hard time expressing himself to Matt; Foggy’s still trying to nail down why, exactly. For now, though, Jack will tell Foggy anything and everything, and Foggy will take it for as long as he can have it.

“I’m feeling great, kiddo,” Foggy says. He kisses Jack’s forehead; Jack shoves at him, lightly, without malice, just to protest. “How’re you?”

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ Jack tells him, like he always does. “I miss your long hair.”

“Me, too, Jackie,” Foggy says. He ruffles Jack’s hair. “Guess you’ll have to grow yours out to make up for it.”

Jack shrugs, rubbing at his head. Foggy tugs him in again, hugs him with his one available arm. Jack leans into it, tucking his head up under Foggy’s chin. Matt keeps reading some story about a couple of rabbits who go on a road trip. Molly’s fingers are loosely tangled in Anna’s hair. Jack’s breathing is evening out. Foggy’s content, for now. Things are going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I also actually wrote some books! It was a long road but, I did it! Ta-da! If you want to read either of them, shoot me a message!
> 
> I have a blog now to request imagines - I just like to make people happy. Submit requests [here!](https://imagine-in-the-fandoms.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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